


Kings or Pawns

by Rheaird_of_Life



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018), The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: F/F, it's kind of weird how well this works, minus the whole different time periods thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rheaird_of_Life/pseuds/Rheaird_of_Life
Summary: Beth learns a valuable lesson about stranger danger.Set towards the end of the Russian tournament.
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Kings or Pawns

**Author's Note:**

> I was coerced into writing this thing. Send help.
> 
> Apparently no one has done this pairing before so it's the first time it's being used on this site...I just kind of wrote it in lol...I guess that's what you do idk.
> 
> I also think this is the first actual crossover I've ever done...which is hard to believe lol

The massive, austere room is silent as the grave.

Seconds, and then minutes tick by noisily within her own mind, getting louder and louder the longer her opponent fails to show.

No one had ever kept her waiting before.

She was starting to wonder if something had happened to Borgov.

Beth hoped not. Winning against him in this manner, by default, would be incredibly disappointing. Not just for her, but for her considerable fan base around the world.

Finally, unhurried footfalls could be heard, emanating from behind. Strangely, they sound like high heels, not the utilitarian boots the average man and woman wore in this country.

The obnoxious click clack begins to mirror the tick tock in her brain, driving her further up the walls.

With a great effort, she forces herself to keep her eyes forward, focus on the monumental task at hand.

Having reached their central table, her opponent takes their seat. A heady perfume pierces the veil before her eyes register the bizarre sight.

Instead of the distinguished undefeated Grandmaster that she had tirelessly studied day and night, is an elegantly dressed woman of a similar age to herself. 

“Where's Borgov?” she asks after she gets over her considerable surprise.

“Vasily couldn't make it,” says the woman. “I'm filling in.”

 _But you can't_! This was the championship match! Surely this was beyond illegal? And yet no one was making a fuss. Not the rows of solemn spectators. Not a single one of the officials. No one was so much as batting an eyelash. What was going on here?

“Who are you?” she demands harshly, albeit quietly.

The woman smiles faintly. “A secret weapon.”

That was beyond an understatement. As far as she knew, the Americans never even had an _inkling_ of an elite Russian female player outside of Nona Gaprindashvili. Where had they been hiding her current opponent all this time? And why was she allowed to even _be_ here?

The mystery woman makes her first play, a pawn to E4, then hits the timer, finally stopping her clock. Just like that, the incessant tick tock ceases and Beth is able to take stock of her newfound predicament.

This wasn't at all what she had nearly killed herself preparing for, but they were here now, and she had never backed down from a match in her life. She wasn't about to start now. Not when everything was on the line.

Beth moves her own pawn to E5, copying the woman's move.

The woman smiles at that, then moves a pawn to F4, all the while staring at Beth.

So far they've played The King's Gambit, the mirror image of The Queen's Gambit. It was a highly debated method of play in modern chess. Some loved it; loved the immediate mortal peril. Some hated it; likening it to utter madness.

Why had she followed this woman's lead?

The longer they play, the more she realizes that the woman never looks away from her, never looks at the board before making a play. It's starting to make her skin crawl.

Beth had no idea what this woman's game was. Although the match started in familiar territory, it's quickly devolved into something else altogether. There seemed to be no logic behind any of her moves. She didn't appear to be following the well tread ground of those that came before.

Beth honestly can't tell if her opponent is a prodigy like herself, an amazing improviser, or if she has no idea what she is doing and just making moves at random with no concern for the possible outcome ten steps down the road.

And she definitely doesn't know what the woman means by those sultry looks she keeps throwing her way. If she's trying to distract her, she is sadly mistaken. Nothing can distract her at such a pivotal moment in her life. In the history of the game.

“Ooh, are you sure about that?” taunts the woman, when Beth reaches for her next piece.

Decorum dictated complete silence once the game began. Once more Beth looks around waiting for someone to do something about this highly unusual situation. And yet everyone remains completely focused on the task at hand, like she _should_ be.

Every time Beth makes a play, the woman says something under her breath in another language. Not Russian, but Italian. Beth doesn't know what she's saying and it's driving her nuts.

She does her best to tune it out.

“You're not going to get to me,” she mutters.

“Did you know that I also grew up in an orphanage? Tragically it burned down and killed a bunch of kids.”

They stare at one another for an extended beat and then the game really takes off, faster and faster, a flurry of movement, like she was facing off against Benny in the cafeteria again, equally unprepared and failing to secure the upper hand.

Pieces rapidly vanish from the board until there's only a handful remaining, and it's at that point she realizes she's lost.

_No!_

Beth startles awake, a fine sheen of sweat coating her brow.

A nightmare. That's all it was. Just nerves about her upcoming match.

She chuckles to herself in relief.

Then the bed dips slightly, directing her gaze to the other occupant.

Blonde hair and bare shoulders are on display. And then it all comes back to her.

The woman from her nightmare is named Oksana. And they had met only this afternoon.

Beth had ditched her security and gone rogue so she could play some stress free matches against the local inhabitants of Moscow. It was the only way she could think to unwind without drugs or alcohol.

She had just effortlessly beaten an endearing elderly man, one of many, when a striking woman had sat down across from her. She was striking for a number of reasons. Her youth and beauty, yes, but also her clothing. Rather than the shabby, pragmatic outfits huddled around, she was dressed fashionably, in a way reminiscent to her own style. And beyond that, she wore no hat or coat, as if she were immune to the cold.

Apparently she had been staring because the woman smirked slightly, held out her ungloved hand.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Harmon. You probably hear this all the time...but I truly am your biggest fan.”

The woman had a Russian accent to be sure, but she clearly spoke more English than most others she had encountered during her stay.

Beth took her hand and again was surprised to find she was quite warm. Perhaps she had only recently vacated a vehicle nearby?

“Well, do you want to play? Or do you want to have a staring contest? I have to warn you, I'm very good at the latter. Never lost a match.”

Checking herself, Beth gestures for the out of place woman to make the first move.

  
  


**

  
  


When the rather stimulating, albeit chaotic match is concluded, the woman again holds out her hand, and Beth shakes once firmly, as was the custom of men. In all her years of playing however, not one of the men had then brought her hand to their lips.

The woman holds eye contact all the while in a spellbinding manner, and Beth's body tingles pleasantly all over.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” she replies without much thought, surprising herself yet again.

The woman smiles charmingly, then stands, proffering her arm. Faint murmuring makes it through the fog this woman has placed on her normally high functioning brain. Beth hardly pays attention to the bewilderment and disapproval of the old folks, and lets herself be led away by this captivating woman.

They walk for a little while in companionable silence. “How much of Moscow have you seen so far?”

“Practically none. I'm supposed to keep to my hotel when I'm not competing.”

“Ah yes, it can be dangerous out here for foreigners. Especially such attractive ones. Luckily you have me for protection.”

Beth chuckles at that. Judging by the expensive nature of her clothes, if someone tried to kidnap her at gun point, she doubted this woman would be able to do much of anything besides scream. Perhaps her newfound friend has her own bodyguards just out of sight, blending in?

“Where would you like to go?” continues the woman. “I know just about every hot spot in Moscow and can get us exclusive access at the drop of a hat.”

Beth side-eyes her. “Megalomania is generally frowned upon in women.”

“Yes, but, we're not typical women, now are we?”

“I don't know. I don't know what you do.” She frowns. “I don't even know your _name_ yet.”

 _And really, Beth?_ This was a new low. Going off with a complete stranger in a strange land on the dawn of your biggest match yet. Rookie mistake.

The fog clears briefly and she brings them to an abrupt stop. The aisles of chess boards are thankfully still in sight. She hadn't strayed too far away from the familiar.

“What's wrong?” asks the woman.

“I think maybe I should be heading back. It's starting to get dark and I still have to go over my strategy for tomorrow.”

“I could help with that.”

Beth stifles a laugh. “No offense, but do you even know how to play?”

“My name's Oksana,” says the woman, in lieu of an answer. “I'm an interior designer.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Oksana, but I really think I should be heading back now.”

Oksana seems reluctant to let her go. Which is all but confirmed when she doesn't immediately release her arm.

Before she can get alarmed, Oksana pulls away, gives her her space.

“I'm sorry to part ways so soon,” says Oksana. “Maybe I'll see you at the match.”

Dressed like that, Beth would certainly take notice.

  
  


**

  
  


A few hours later when she finds herself going over the same tricky play Borgov had made in one of his more obscure endgames, Beth shoves the chessboard away in frustration. She had no clue how to counteract, to salvage that particular predicament. It was impossible with a clear head. She runs a hand through her unwashed hair and does her best not to think about getting a drink. Pills were out of the question – mostly because she couldn't find any here – so that only left alcohol.

Downstairs there was vodka galore. She knows she shouldn't risk ruining her sobriety, but if she couldn't figure this out in the next little while, it hardly mattered. Nothing mattered right now except winning.

Squashing the image of Jolene's disapproving face from view, Beth secures the complimentary hotel robe around her waist, and heads downstairs.

Despite the enormity of the building (a common occurrence in Moscow) there's no one else in the dining hall besides the barkeeper.

He pours her a shot of vodka without comment.

Beth stares at the little innocuous thing for some time, transfixed. Surely one shot couldn't do too much damage?

She brings the glass towards her lips, only to find them making contact with flesh. Specifically that of a familiar woman's hand.

Said hand closes over top hers, lowers the snake oil back to the counter top.

Beth stares at Oksana. She's in a completely different outfit to earlier in the day. Most of which is covered by an odd shin length coat, of a shiny green hue. Now her hair is down. Inviting. Now her cleavage is on display. Even more inviting.

“How did you get in here?” she manages to ask eventually, resuming eye contact.

The hotel was practically in lock down for the duration of the tournament. No one but the staff and contestants were allowed in and out. Not even her security detail.

Oksana looks at her then says, “Like I said, I can get in anywhere.”

“ _Why_ are you here?”

“I thought that was obvious,” answers Oksana. She trails a feather light touch up her thinly clothed arm, goosebumps erupting in its wake. “You clearly need a helping hand. Lucky for you, I've got two of them.”

Throughout her illustrious career, there's been numerous smitten fans. Most of whom admired from afar. If Beth knew more about the world at large, she might have thought she was being stalked.

“Does blatant flirting like this work often?”

Oksana smirks slightly. “More often than not. I find most women are attracted to confidence.”

Either the barkeep doesn't understand much English or he's been paid to ignore this taboo interaction.

And what the hell. If Oksana can make her mind go foggy like the pills, then she's the next best thing.

Beth takes Oksana's hand and leads her towards the elevator. It seems to take ages to get there.

“You know, for a gay woman, you have rather pointy nails.”

Beth glares at her. “I'm _not_ gay.”

Oksana stares at their still joined hands, at her obvious impatience to get to her room.

“The last time I was drunk,” she defends. “It doesn't count. It was an anomaly.”

“And this time?”

“This time I have no choice.”

“Wow, you really know how to charm a girl.”

Why was she making such a big deal about this? Her almost male lover was gay. Sure they hadn't parted on the best of terms, and sure she had a bit of a grudge against him for kind of leading her on...and oh, yeah, that was probably her main hangup to the term.

“I'm sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn't mean it like that. I'm just high strung right now.”

The lavish and gigantic elevator finally shows up, and Oksana pulls her in before she can further second guess her actions.

“I can help with that,” reiterates Oksana, drawing her close, one hand firm on the small of her back, the other languidly at the base of her skull.

The combination of their closeness and the heady perfume amplifies the fog to new heights. Beth has little doubt that this rather unorthodox method will in fact be successful.

They're on the verge of kissing when Oksana stops, waits for Beth to close the rest of the gap.

Which of course she does, because, come _on_ , anyone with sight would do the same.

  
  


**

  
  


Some time later, after her third orgasm, she finally manages to pry herself away from Oksana's helping hands. She lays flat on her back and focuses on the high ceiling. Ghostly, larger than life chess pieces instantly move themselves into Borgav's troublesome endgame. And then her blitzed out, yet vitalized mind gets to work, tirelessly rearranging the scenario, working through the problem in a way her sober mind couldn't seem to manage.

She practically squeals with delight when the answer is laid bare for the first time. Now that she knows how to get out of that (admittedly unlikely) pickle the rest of the stress oozes from her body and she feels as if she's becoming one with the luxury soft mattress.

Oksana has turned onto her side, elbow propping her head up, watching, studying.

“What were you doing?”

Beth cocks her head ever so slightly towards her, unable to move further. “Playing.”

Oksana quirks an eyebrow at that response. “Do you ever stop?”

“Not really.”

Oksana tip toes her fingers up her arm. “Did you figure out how to beat Borgov?”

“I have multiple strategies in mind, but it's impossible to know if any of them will be effective,” she responds vaguely, diplomatically. “His skill is second to none.”

Oksana says nothing, only rolls back on top of her, apparently her preferred position.

“Oh no, I don't think I can take anymore,” she says, even as her exhausted body stirs feebly to this sexy call to arms.

“We'll see about that,” replies Oksana smugly.

She's slept with numerous people in her twenty years of life, but the insistent vixen now working over time between her legs certainly took the cake.

  
  


**

  
  


Beth watches Oksana sleep for some minutes, and when she doesn't stir again, decides to go snoop through her things. Granted there wasn't much besides the clothes that used to be on her back. Except for well...this dagger in her high heel.

_What the fuck??_

Maybe it was just for self defense, like Benny's knife. Maybe there was no reason to be concerned about the level of thought put into hiding it from prying eyes. Maybe there was a totally logical reason why this dagger was stashed in a secret compartment that had clearly been professionally made and she had just accidentally stumbled upon.

Beth jumps out of her skin when suddenly there's a voice right in her ear.

“Didn't anyone ever tell you it was rude to go through someone's things without their permission?”

She whirls towards Oksana, blade in hand.

Oksana barely pays it mind, although she does take a couple of hasty steps back.

“Who are you?” she says, wide-eyed, doing her best to keep the tremble out of her voice.

Considering how many men she had let into her home, or otherwise gone off with randomly, it was kind of ironic that it ended up being a woman she should've been concerned about.

“Wow and here I thought you had a world class memory.”

The flippant response seriously pisses her off.

“I know you _told_ me your name is Oksana, that you grew up in an orphanage here in Moscow and now work as an interior designer for the rich and famous. But who are you _really_? KGB?” She swallows. “An assassin?”

Beth didn't know the first thing about the Cold War or espionage in general. Then again, she didn't know much about anything besides chess. She really should have paid more attention to what her security detail had been saying, heeded their warnings more.

Oksana eyes her appreciatively. Both of them are completely naked. Only one of them is unconcerned.

“You're perceptive...if a bit slow.” Oksana tilts her head, looks to the blade still in Beth's slightly shaking hand.

Beth wonders if she's debating how best to disarm her without making a ruckus. Clearly if she's meant to kill her, it needed to be done with the utmost discretion.

“Why did they do this? Send you?”

“Let's just say they wanted to recreate the magic of Paris.”

It takes Beth's frazzled mind several seconds to clue into her meaning. _Cleo!_

Was Oksana saying that Cleo was a Russian spy too, her only intent to distract?

Where all the women she slept with going to be duplicitous bitches?

No wonder she has issues with gay people.

“Sadly I wasn't able to keep you occupied quite as long. Although, you really should be more careful around these parts. You never know who could be watching. Or listening.”

Beth freaks out further when she recalls they had partially discussed her predominant strategy against Borgov. Oksana could be _very_ persuasive...

She hadn't told her much, but it could well be enough to tip the scales in Borgov's favour.

“Are you going to tell them?” she says, breathless.

Without expression, Oksana regards her for an interminable length of time. “No.”

“No?” blinks Beth, shell shocked. “Are you a double agent?”

That was a thing, right? Or was she making even more of a fool of herself?

Oksana looks at her, subtly amused. “I already told you, Miss Harmon, I'm your biggest fan. I would never do anything to jeopardize your match against Mr. High and Mighty.” She wrinkles her nose. “He smells of cabbage. Or hadn't you noticed?”

Truth be told she hadn't. Borgov could've smelled like manure and she wouldn't have noticed once she got into the groove.

Oksana steps towards her and Beth brandishes the knife in her face.

Rolling her eyes, Oksana moves passed her and starts donning her designer Italian clothing. The seconds tick by lethargically within her mind, almost seeming to come to a stand still.

She wonders what Jolene would do in this situation. If she wouldn't hesitate to cut this 'cracker bitch'. Beth clearly couldn't trust anything she had said if she works for the KGB. This woman could easily walk out that door and tell them what they were desperate to know, ruin her chances of winning in the final hour.

Task accomplished, Oksana comes right up to her, within slashing range, and holds her hand out.

“Knife please. It belonged to my father. I would really appreciate it back.”

Beth holds her gaze, trance-like, as if they were in the middle of a match. Presumably this woman could easily subdue her. Easily kill her. If she had wanted to physically harm her, she would've done it ages ago.

Stubbornly she holds on.

Oksana huffs a little, impatient. “If you don't give it back, I will just have to take it from you. And then I might sprain your wrist.” Oksana's eyes flash dangerously for the first time, her true colours peaking through. “Or _worse_.”

Accepting the futility of her situation, of her inability to inflict harm, Beth deflates, returns the deadly edge to its still deadlier owner.

Oksana secures the knife back inside its hidden compartment. Somehow though, Beth doesn't feel any safer. She shivers, as much from the chill of the under heated, overly spacious room, as she does from her current proximity to this government agent.

“You should really get some more sleep,” says Oksana, like she actually cares about her well-being. “You've got a big day ahead of you.”

The reminder of her upcoming match is enough to momentarily quell the rising anxiety and fear.

Finding her voice again, she says, “Can you give me any hints?”

It was a long shot to be sure, but she figured she might as well try considering she had been duped yet again. Beth makes a mental note to never sleep with any more strange women the night before important matches.

“Now, now, Beth, that would be cheating.”

The irony of the statement oozes from every word.

She wonders if she had accepted Oksana's initial offer of help, if Borgov's strategy would have been laid bare.

They size each other up for a few seconds and then Oksana puts a hand to her neck, as if preparing to crush it. Instead, she leans in and gives her a confusingly gentle, affectionate kiss, one that lingers, like she knows it is the last one they will ever share.

Despite herself and the startling situation she found herself in, she perversely sinks into it, and the momentary comfort this closeness provides.

Afterwards, Oksana strokes her cheek and softly says, “Kick his arse for me, will you?”

Dumbly, she nods, still in disbelief at this entire encounter, at the unpredictable manner of her would-be-assassin. Maybe not in body, but in spirit.

At the door, Oksana turns to face her one last time. “Oh and by the way...my name really _is_ Oksana.”

So saying she winks and then disappears from her life forever, leaving Beth to wonder if she had imagined her altogether, her fears manifested in human form.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I had to laugh because I just picked some random pawns, then realised they involved the king, and wondered if The King's Gambit was a thing. And lo and behold...xD
> 
> I guess I also thought it was a bit anticlimactic that they made this big deal about keeping her safe while in Russia and then nothing came of that lol
> 
> Poor, stupid, naive, Beth. Maybe third time is the charm. Maybe Jolene's sugar daddy will get kicked to the curb. :P
> 
> Anyway, hope the ten of you who read this enjoyed it!


End file.
